What the heck is metanoia anyway?

The Facebook memories feature is a funny thing. You can get a little glimpse into your life from what you were doing and thinking 5, 10, 15 (FIFTEEN, WHAT?!?!?!) years ago so long as you are an over-poster like myself. I like to look at it everyday. I know, it sounds crazy, but it is really fun for me. And sometimes painful. We lost our sweet Charlie Bear in July this past year, so seeing pictures of him happy and healthy from years ago both tugs at my sad strings and makes my heart beam. There are also hilarious moments that I seemed to have forgotten, that make me burst out laughing as soon as I see them (like the time I sneezed really hard going through a yellow light in my new car and blacked out and thought life as I knew it was going to end all while Warren G’s “Regulators” was playing on the iTunes and I rapped through the whole incident without missing a beat- for example). Anyhow, one thing is absolutely certain. And that is, for a long time, I was living a life I thought I needed to live- but wasn’t making me truly happy. And today, my Facebook memories reminded me of that.

Ok, so that begs a question. What IS happiness anyhow? Is it bounding out of bed each morning, throwing the shades open with reckless abandon (not so much that you break them though, that is a happiness buster for sure), drinking your morning coffee and singing Disney tunes? Perhaps. Is it having a permanent grin on your face? Maybe. I think part of the difficulty in finding true happiness is that it is a lot of things, but until we are completely stripped away from it, we don’t know what it truly means, and most important, FEELS LIKE for each of us. And, for each of us it is really different. For some people, going to work, grinding out and coming home to their kids IS happiness- and I will not judge or take that away from anyone. We are all here for such a short time that each of us deserves happiness (unless you are a serial killer or unkind to animals, then you deserve nothing). The hardest part for me is that I AM a genuinely happy, optimistic, extroverted Enneagram type 7, so happiness is part of my DNA, but how can you tell when something is true or topical- even when it is “part of who you are”?

4 years ago today, I stumbled upon and posted something that struck me so deeply. In hindsight (WHICH IS 2020 HEYOOOOO! Had to…), I didn’t realize just how hard it was going to resonate with me. I reread it this morning… you know, after bounding out of bed, flinging the curtains open and drinking my coffee while singing Disney tunes. Kidding, I slept awful last night so I literally dragged my half-asleep ass out of bed, put on my robe and crumpled into a heap on the recliner while Justin did all the morning to-do’s for the pups, before mustering enough energy to pour coffee and start my day. But, even with that, I am happy. And I realize we are human and go through a range of thoughts and feelings. Today I was tired. But, my foundation is happiness. Your foundation, just like your house, is where everything starts- the base of your being.

That foundation wasn’t always happiness for me, though if you were to ask, I likely would have thought it was, and would have told you so. Over time, I have realized that my foundation was based on controlling things (though I didn’t need to- but THOUGHT I did), competition (being the best, having the most- most money, things, people being envious of me and said THINGS), and jealousy- that if I didn’t have those things for people to be envious of, I wasn’t worth what I thought I should be. Now, with that, lemme take a step back. I grew up in a perfectly imperfect household. My mom and dad loved my brother and I deeply, but also had a lot of baggage themselves, as of course, we all do. I was the oldest, and took on a lot of the stereotypical traits a first-born has. I felt the weight of the world on me- to be perfect. Perfect grades, perfect hair, makeup, clothes, body (fun fact: I once bought a Butterfinger candy bar that I kept in my desk drawer when I was 13 or so to see how long I could keep it in there. I wouldn’t eat any other candy either. I was testing my own willpower. It lasted an entire 6 months). I put myself on a “diet” of yogurt and Fresca soda in 6th grade. I got my first job at 13 so I could buy what I wanted and when- and have worked ever since. I was a cheerleader, a gymnast, a track “star.” I was good at everything I did- to the point that I expected it always. There was no room for mistakes. There was no grace for myself in mistakes. Quick aside- I received a lot of praise from my parents. Praise without expectation. Meaning- because I got said praise, and liked it, I was the one pushing myself. Not my parents. I feel like it is important to note that.

As I grew up, I also felt like I needed to be my own parent. Take care of myself. And, at 18- off I went to college and never looked back. My mom would beg me to come home for the summers, and I would have nothing of it, my independence and new life was way more important to me at that time. My dad passed when I was 20, and I was then financially on my own. Completely. So I had to work full-time to support myself. For me, working full-time wasn’t good enough (even though I was also a pre-med full-time student) I needed to push myself, and I knew I would be successful, because failure wasn’t even on the table. So I became a supervisor, graduated college with a really difficult degree, then became a manager and then moved to our corporate office. During our new hire orientation, we had to write ourselves a letter. In that letter, I promised myself I would be a “director” within 3 years. Of what, I had no idea. But, back then, it wasn’t about that. It was about “status.” I was excelling- everything I had wanted and worked for was coming to me. I made great money, had a huge house, a boat… a closet any gal would envy. I felt absolutely unstoppable.

And then about 4 years later, something funny happened. I stopped getting promoted. I interviewed, thought they went great. Second best. Second best. Second best. For about 4 years I was turned down for literally everything. And my personal and family life was falling apart at the seams. I won’t divulge into that, but let’s say that I am thankful everyone I love and am close to is still alive and thriving, myself included, but it was a scary and awful 4 years of my life. My mental state all but disappeared. I was a still smiling, but deeply broken shell of myself, most of the time not even aware of what I was thinking or feeling. Everything I thought I was- I, wasn’t anymore. I remember going bowling with some friends, and thinking to myself I was going to best everyone (I used to be SO good at sports- including bowling). Gutter ball. Who the actual fuck had I turned into? I gained weight. There were new wrinkles on my face, despite the fact that I got Botox regularly. I felt, old and tired. There were so many people in my life that I just couldn’t compare to anymore. Even if I tried. But, I didn’t want to try. I was engulfed by envy, jealousy and self-hate. Where was this person who just excelled at everything? Who everyone loved? Who was destined for greatness?

She was right here. She just had her priorities a little backwards.

After going to therapy, taking some time off from work to address my mental health state, reading self-help books, not wearing makeup everyday (and loving myself for it), enjoying the things I was cooking or eating instead of shaming myself for what the “scale was going to say the next morning,” I began to realize you can only put on a front for so long before you burn out. Before you stop caring and nothing in this world can make you care. But, most important, I realized that I really didn’t give a shit about the things I had thought you were supposed to care about (which only perpetuated said burnout). That lots of money and stuff doesn’t equal happiness. Even a little bit. That I was born totally different. And I thank my lucky stars every single day for those failed promotions, for the strife… for the shitstorm that was my life.

With all of that, I want to share with you the post that so profoundly has been with me for the last 4 years. This is not my post, and was shared from a woman named Jannae Robinson. I don’t know if she is the original poster, but nonetheless. This entire piece speaks to me- who I want to be, and who I don’t, but for so long thought I needed to be. One promise to myself is that I will never go back to the woman who over-explained, who apologized for everything (and seemingly nothing at the same time to those it mattered most to), who changed who she was to “succeed” and “fit in” when that wasn’t what she wanted (and was told to change or to be less of who she was if she wanted to be those things- she was too loud, too outspoken- too much), she who thought she needed to be in the driver’s seat for everything in order to feel safe and successful.

I will never go back to that. I will never stop being who I am at my core. And, who I am at my core is fucking happy.

And, for the post:

“I will never be a well-behaved woman.

I would rather pass my days lying in the middle of dirt roads, staring at the full moon with a bottle of summer red in my palms.

I would rather have kids when it suits me, not when society expects or even ever.

I would rather live in a hammock on a beach for six months, and write like my soul means it.

I would rather be horribly broke at times, than married to a job because a mortgage payment has my ass on a hook.

I would rather own moments, than investments.

I would rather eat alone, than sit with women who bore me at ‘Wives’ Night.’

I would rather swim naked with bioluminescence, have it fall like fireflies from my hair, my breasts, my back.

I would rather do handstands naked in the moonlight when no one’s watching than pick bridesmaid dresses.

I would rather drink seven year old rum from a sandy bottle, smell of smoke and ash than sit in church.

I would rather learn from life than rack up debt, in a desk.

I would rather drink the ocean, again and again—celebrate being madly alive.

I would rather my love be defined by love itself, and nothing more or less.

I don’t need a ring on my finger to prove that I am in love.

I would rather take the chicken bus, than spend useless money in safe, gated communities. Sit beside a goat, listen to raggaeton and eat green mango with sugar in a plastic bag sold from the woman who harasses the bus each time it stops.

I do not need a degree to prove that I am intelligent.

I do not need to own a piece of earth with some wood on top of it—to feel successful. No one truly owns the land, anyway. We just think we do.

My savings account has diddly to do with my richness.

I will take a job I love and freedom over a pension, any day.

I will not work and work and work to live when my body is old, and I am tired.

Stocks are for people who get boners from money.

Not everyone should have kids, and my eggs aren’t expiring.

I will not drink the societal Kool-Aid on a bus, nor will I drink it on a train. Not on a plane, with a goat, in the rain, in the dark, in a tree, with a fox, in a box!

I will not jump through societies’ hoops and red tape, the treasure hunt in the rat race we chase.

If we must have milestones—mine will be measured by how much joy I have collected at the end of each day and how often in this life I have truly, deeply, opened.

Seek, see, love, do.”

And that, my friends, is exactly what I am setting out to do- and my metanoia, and happiness in this life.

Cheers, stay curious, and be happy.